


unhealthy

by 875857



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/479928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/875857/pseuds/875857
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin comes back to Camelot after fleeing, but his attempts at resolving conflict don't go as planned.</p><div class="center">-</div>“I said get out, <i>sorcerer</i>.”<p>Arthur hisses the last word, and Merlin’s insides turn to ice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unhealthy

Unhealthy. Merlin digs his nails into the skin of Arthur’s back because this is _unhealthy_. What they're doing, why they're doing it - for  _all_ the wrong reasons. Arthur snapping his hips hard enough into Merlin to leave him sore for days. Merlin bent in half as Arthur nearly suffocates him with his weight. The way his kisses are predatory, possessive, hungry and lustful - but void of love and affection. It is unhealthy. It is all so _very_ unhealthy.

 

This is what their relationship has become.

 

This is what _they_ have become - twisted and mangled and torn to the point where Merlin feels sickened to think about it. But it’s partially his fault as well, after all, he is the one that visited Arthur in the night, even after leaving Camelot in a flurry of dust and emotions and his own spilt blood only a week before. But Merlin doesn’t like to think about that - not when Arthur is deep inside him. He doesn’t want to think, he wants Arthur to fuck him harder so that the tears that prickle at the corner of his eyes aren’t frustration at their situation, at Arthur’s pride, at Merlin’s pathetic attempts at hatred - but at physical intensity. All he wants to do is think about how delicious the burn feels - to ignore how empty he feels even if Arthur is filling him in a way that he’s _always_ wanted, always craved.

 

It is a surprise when Arthur comes, and Merlin isn’t expecting the rush of warmth inside him. His own hand moves between them to quickly jerk himself off as Arthur roughly works out his orgasm. His magic licks out from him, washes against Arthur without meaning to as he comes - and Merlin barely has a chance to come down from the post-orgasmic high when he is shoved off the bed.

 

The floor rushes to meet him, and Merlin crashes in a tangle of his own limbs and a pillow or two of Arthur’s. There is wetness trailing down his thighs, his cum smeared against his abdomen and caught in his chest hair. He grunts at the fall, looking up at the bed with a complaint on his lip, but Arthur is already backing off the bed, cock tucked back inside his pants. He reaches for his sword on his bedside table - the fucking magical sword that _Merlin_ gave him. Merlin bites back the urge to point this out. Arthur doesn’t point it at Merlin, but he’s got a hand wrapped around the hilt and the fact that only _moments ago_ , that hand had been curled in Merlin’s hair is a slap to the face.

 

“Get out,” he says, and Merlin is hurting as he sees the look of absolute hatred in Arthur’s eyes - especially after all they’ve been through. It cuts him deep enough to get past his own anger, to the part of him that desperately wants them to go back to what they once were. The part that isn’t angry, only sad and hurt and wants to make peace and for Arthur to understand, to love him, maybe.

 

“Arthur,” he says, testing out Arthur’s name as if for the first time, “ _I-_ ”

 

“I said get out, _sorcerer_.” Arthur hisses the last word, and Merlin’s insides turn to ice.

 

If Arthur silently threatening to hurt him was a slap to the face, _this_ is like stabbing him in the chest. The walls in Merlin’s heart are back down, and he gets to his feet, taking a deep breath as he does so. His head is tilted down, but when he looks back up, his stare is as even and as angry and as guarded as Arthur’s own - and if there’s a flicker of fear, or doubt, or hesistance in Arthur’s eyes, it’s too late. It’s too goddamn _late_.

 

“Fine,” he says, pulling himself up with terse grace. He can feel Arthur’s eyes watching as he moves around the room, picking up his clothes and pulling them on. Merlin takes more time than necessary - out of spite and because magic is trembling beneath his skin, so strong that it’s permeating the air and Merlin _knows_ that Arthur can feel it. It’s almost a challenge - but Merlin knows that he could never hurt Arthur, regardless of how much Arthur has hurt him.

 

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and once he pulls on his jacket, he’s stepping up to the window with a transportation spell on his tongue.

 

But before he leaves he turns and looks back at Arthur - beautiful, _beautiful_ Arthur, with his hair mussed and his lips kiss swollen looking _furious_ and _regal_ and - Merlin spits on the floor before he can finish that thought, before his ire can die and leave him a mess, begging for Arthur's forgiveness.

 

“Have a good night, sire.”

 

He means to say _sire_ with bite, with laced poison in his tone - but it comes out _tired_ and _defeated_ , and Merlin wants to kick himself for showing weakness, especially to Arthur, who is a warrior and will take a shot when given the opportunity.

 

And then he turns away, doesn’t see Arthur stepping forward, and disappears.

**Author's Note:**

> so i somehow came upon the three days grace section of youtube after a few years of never listening to them and this was pooped out
> 
> mostly typed with my eyes closed, so consider this an experiment as i thrust it out into the world.


End file.
